


Put your hands up ('cause it's a stand up)

by ardenjames



Category: Les Misérables (2012), Les Misérables - All Media Types, Les Misérables - Victor Hugo
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Thieves, EVERYONE IS A LESBIAN, F/F, Flirting, Fluff, Robbery, Rule 63, everything is very soft
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-03
Updated: 2020-08-03
Packaged: 2021-03-06 03:01:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,117
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25696219
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ardenjames/pseuds/ardenjames
Summary: Normally, Grantaire hates her boring job as the night shift security guard at a tiny art museum. On nights when she gets to flirt with surprisingly beautiful art thieves, however, she realizes the job isn’t that bad(lowkey based on the Gardener Museum Heist)
Relationships: Combeferre/Courfeyrac (Les Misérables), Enjolras/Grantaire (Les Misérables)
Comments: 3
Kudos: 57





	Put your hands up ('cause it's a stand up)

**Author's Note:**

> This fic is solely based on what shane madej said in the gardener museum heist buzzfeed unsolved episode: “I’m just realizing now how fun it would be to bond with the robbers. I’m kickin’ back with these guys!”  
> Title from stand up from 1d, the greatest thievery song ever  
> The museum in question is the Musee de la Vie Romantique in Montmartre which I highly recommend visiting if museums ever open again! It is very soft and cute  
> thank you to brandi and brooke for looking over this I love you both and your edits were brilliant!  
> thanks for reading! -arden

Grantaire was bored out of her mind. That was fairly standard, though, since working as the night shift security guard at a tiny museum wasn’t all that exciting. Their most expensive piece was probably some portrait of George Sand, but Grantaire didn’t care all that much about that. Sure, at one point in her life she’d been an art student, and working at a museum was her dream, but there was a difference between curating the _Centre Pompidou_ and sitting in the tiny security office outside an old mansion-turned-art exhibit in Montmartre. Grantaire was far more interested in the fluidity of modern sculpture, of the daring choices made by Louise Bourgeois and Tracey Emin, than she was in some dusty old French guy who studied under Le Gros. But she needed the money, and working the night shift was better than having to deal with overenthusiastic tourists all day.

She assumed she’d just be stuck at the job, bored out of her mind, until a better offer showed up. But she didn’t expect things to change so swiftly on such an unassuming Friday night. Her shift began as usual, with a quick nod to the daytime guard and a glance at the logbook for any deliveries she might need to be aware of. Seeing nothing, Grantaire kicked her feet up onto the desk and pulled up her laptop, ready for a mindless night of Netflix.

Around two in the morning, just as she was pulling a thermos of coffee from her backpack, she heard the employee entrance buzz. Looking at the grainy video from the outdoor camera, Grantaire noticed two figures, their faces shielded in the shadows. Instead of saying anything, Grantaire waited for them to speak.

“Pardon me,” one of them said, stepping forward into the light. It was a woman with short, curly hair and dark-rimmed glasses. She held up a badge to the camera, and Grantaire read the Police Nationale number written. “We’re from the _Commissariat de Police_ , and it’s come to our attention that there may have been a disturbance here earlier this evening.”

Grantaire’s eyes narrowed. “What kind of disturbance? I’ve been here since nine, and I haven’t heard anything.”

“Would you mind letting us in so we can ask you a few questions?” the woman asked.

Not wanting to get shit from her supervisor in the morning for being rude to the police, Grantaire buzzed them in, tracking them on her screen as they walked down the hall towards her office. The two policewomen rounded the corner, and Grantaire was met face to face with the dark-haired woman from the screen and a second policewoman who just happened to be the most stunning person she’d ever seen. Grantaire wasn’t normally one to compliment members of law enforcement, since she figured most of them were corrupt assholes anyway, but this woman was the exception. Her police uniform fit her well, and curls of blonde hair fell from a bun on top of her head. Piercing green eyes, full of distrust and annoyance, narrowed as she frowned at Grantaire.

“You had questions?” Grantaire asked, directing her attention to the blonde woman.

Instead of responding, the blonde just cocked her head slightly. “Do I know you? You look familiar.”

“I doubt it,” Grantaire said. “I don’t normally frequent the same spots as cops. No offense.”

The woman’s lips twitched, but the other police officer cut in. “Actually, I believe we have an outstanding warrant for you? Public intoxication?”

That made Grantaire groan. Of course it wasn’t an attempt of the beautiful police officer to flirt with her; it was a reminder that she didn’t always make the best decisions when she was out with Jehan and Bahorel.

“Shit, I don’t think so?” She couldn’t remember any recent brawls or arguments she’d started, but, to be fair, public intoxication did seem like something she would get in trouble for.

“Can I speak to you over here?” the blonde asked, motioning for Grantaire to leave her desk and follow her into the hallway.

“Actually,” Grantaire said, remembering that she was, in fact, at her job, “I’m not really supposed to leave this desk. Security and all that.”

“I’m sure we can keep an eye out for any nefarious characters just as well, ma’am,” the other officer said, stepping aside so Grantaire could stand up.

Looking back, Grantaire probably should have asked a few more questions, but in the moment she was distracted by both her lack of sleep and the beautiful cop in front of her. So she followed the blonde out of her office, yawning a bit.

“Look,” she began, “I’m not sure what warrant you’re talking about, but I’m pretty sure you’ve got the wrong person. My name’s Grantaire, and I—”

The blonde turned around, this time with a gun pointed at Grantaire’s chest.

“Shit,” Grantaire said, as the other woman walked up next to her, a pair of handcuffs in her hands. “I’m pretty sure you can’t just point a gun at someone? I have rights, you know.”

“Sorry about this, but we needed you away from the desk,” the dark-haired woman said as she pulled Grantaire’s arms behind her back. “Enjolras. You can put the gun down, now. I don’t think she’s going to run.”

“Run?” Grantaire asked again. “The fuck do you think I did?”

“You aren’t really this dense, are you?” the blonde—Enjolras—asked, rolling her eyes.  
Grantaire raised an eyebrow, as Enjolras pulled a chair from her office into the hallway. “We’re not cops.” Enjolras motioned for Grantaire to sit in the chair. “Combeferre, if you would.”

Combeferre knelt down next to Grantaire and began tying her legs to the chair with what looked like shoestrings.

“Holy fuck,” Grantaire said, coming to a realization. “This is a robbery.”

Enjolras let out a laugh at that. “Took you long enough. ‘Ferre, let’s go. I doubt she’s strong enough to get out of that.”

“Sorry about this,” Combeferre said, giving Grantaire a small smile. “Nothing personal.”

“I dunno, trumped up charges by fake cops for public intoxication _seems_ kinda personal,” Grantaire grumbled.

Combeferre and Enjolras began unbuckling their police vests, revealing the sleek black outfits they both wore. Grantaire didn’t even pretend not to give Enjolras a fairly generous once-over. The black pants and turtleneck fit her like a glove and contrasted nicely with her blonde hair. When Enjolras gave her a questioning glance, Grantaire winked.

“’Ferre,” Enjolras said again, a blush rising to her cheeks. “Let’s keep moving.”

“One of us should stay with her,” Combeferre said, eyeing Grantaire distrustfully. “At least while we take the easy stuff.”

“This is a two-woman job,” Enjolras retorted. “That’s how we planned it. We can’t change it now just because you’re worried about what some two-bit security guard might do.”

“Excuse you,” Grantaire interrupted, relaxing into her restraints. “I might be some incredibly dangerous assassin-turned-security-guard. You never know.” This was the most interesting thing to happen on her job, she might as well have some fun with it.

Enjolras turned back to her, a withering glare on her face. “You think we didn’t do our research on you, Grantaire? Art school dropout, estranged parents, drinking problems--you’ve been at this job for, what, three months now?”

Grantaire was taken aback. “What are you guys, some sort of crime syndicate?”

“No, we’re just prepared,” Combeferre said calmly, putting a hand on Enjolras’ shoulder. “Enj, stay here with Grantaire, just while I work on the security system. Eponine said she could disable it, but I have to do some work on our end first.”

Grantaire could tell that Enjolras didn’t enjoy the idea of babysitting Grantaire, but Enjolras chose not to argue. Combeferre gave them both a short nod, turned on her heel, and went back into Grantaire’s office, leaving the girl in question facing down a beautiful blonde thief who seemed particularly disdainful of her. Enjolras pursed her lips but didn’t follow her partner. Instead, she lapsed into silence, leaning against the wall next to Grantaire.

“So,” Grantaire said, rolling her eyes as she decided to break the tension. Considering Enjolras didn’t seem at all interested in any sort of conversation, Grantaire figured it was up to her to make the night interesting. “come here often?”

As expected, Enjolras just scoffed, rubbing her temples with her fingers..

“C’mon, we don’t have to sit here in silence, y’know,” Grantaire tried again. She wasn’t going to let go of this opportunity to chat up one of the prettiest girls she’d ever seen. Most likely, she wasn’t going to be able to keep her job after this evening, so she might as well get something out of it. A phone number, at least.

“Why can’t you be the quiet kind of hostage?” Enjolras muttered.

“Oh, so I’m a hostage now?” Grantaire asked teasingly. “You already know my story; I assume you know you wouldn’t get that much from my parents for my release. And I doubt the museum would go to the ends of the earth for someone who makes minimum wage.”

“It’s a figure of speech,” Enjolras said. “You’re just in the way of our operation.”

“Ok sure, big dramatic art heist calls for _hostages_ instead of _singular underpaid guard_. But what I don’t get is why you’d come _here_. Honestly, the stuff here can’t be worth what you’d get at a bigger museum, right?”

“Art that’s under the radar tends to be easier to—” Enjolras stopped herself, and glared at Grantaire. “We’re not _chatting_ ,” she snapped.

“Oh, and here I thought we were having such a nice time.” Grantaire said with a pout. She let the silence sit for a moment, as they both listened to Combeferre talking on the phone in the office. “So,” she tried again. “Did you always want to be an art thief? Or did you watch _Oceans Eleven_ as a kid and fall hard and fast for George Clooney?”

That made Enjolras snort, but she gave Grantaire a bit of a smile. Progress. “Try Julia Roberts. And no, I don’t think anyone grows up wanting to break laws. It’s the corrupting influence of capitalism that makes crime a necessity for the lower classes.”

“Oh, fuck me,” Grantaire said with a laugh. “So, what, you’re like some sort of Robin Hood art thief?” Grantaire had to ignore the comment about Julie Roberts, because if she didn’t then that meant Enjolras was flirting with her, and that couldn’t be right, right? Enjolras clearly wasn’t going to give Grantaire the time of day, and she was a _thief_ to boot. Grantaire didn’t normally care about things like propriety, but falling hard and fast for an art thief maybe wasn’t the best idea.

“There’s nothing wrong with having integrity and a moral code,” Enjolras replied.

“You can’t ignore the fact that your actions will have negative consequences. Even if you don’t believe in property rights like a proper little anarchist.”

“Are you honestly trying to defend the shitty bourgeois museum owners?” Enjolras huffed. “This art is insured for millions of Euros while people are sleeping on the streets right outside.”

“Oh, no, fuck these guys,” Grantaire scoffed. “But at the same time, they’re the only reason I have a job and can pay my bills. Your little escapade is, at the very least, definitely going to fuck up my life.”

Surprisingly, that made Enjolras give her a softer look, almost guilty. “I’ll admit, there are some negatives to this type of work. But in the larger scheme of things, it’s important to dismantle the system of wealth which exists holed up in museums through redistribution to the communities who need it.”

Sitting here arguing with a beautiful blonde thief in skin-tight spandex, Grantaire decided, was the peak of her existence. Sure, she was tied to a chair, and sure, these thieves probably had some sort of weapons on them which they wouldn’t hesitate to use, and sure, Grantaire was _definitely_ going to lose her job, but this was kind of worth it.

Or maybe that was just her little lesbian heart talking.

“Hold on,” Grantaire said. “How are you going to redistribute wealth by selling these paintings to _other_ rich people? Doesn’t that just reinforce the system? Because these paintings are going to go back into someone else’s house and never be seen again.”

“Sure, but in the meantime, we’re going to be selling them for thousands of Euros, which can be given directly to those who need it,” Enjolras said smoothly, clearly ready for that rebuttal. “Art is, by its nature, a commodity, and to some extent, we must work within the system and put it back into circulation. But simply burning this building down without doing what we can to take something of value would be of little use.”

“Shit, you’re going to burn the museum down?” Grantaire asked, eyes going wide. She thought these were just small-time anarcho-communist art thieves, not major arsonists hell-bent on destroying an (admittedly beautiful) building.

“Oh, no, not tonight, at least,” Enjolras replied quickly.

Grantaire sighed in relief. Not that she was a particular fan of July Monarchy architecture. But it seemed a shame to destroy something so lovely. Before she could respond, with something witty and flirty, no doubt, Combeferre walked back out of the office.

“I’ve called Courf; she’s going to bring the van around for the pieces. Eponine’s disabled the security system, so we can get started.” Combeferre gave a glance at Grantaire, who tried not to look too disappointed. “Everything all right here?”

Enjolras just grumbled and pushed away from the wall. “We’re fine. I mean, I’m fine. She’s particularly irritating.”

“Oh, darling, you say the nicest things,” Grantaire quipped.

A blush rose on Enjolras’s cheeks, but she kept walking away from Grantaire. Combeferre gave Grantaire a smile before following Enjolras down the hall. “Once again,” she said, “apologies for all this.”

Grantaire just shrugged. “Honestly, it’s probably the best thing to happen to me since I started this job,” she called after them.

Combeferre rounded the corner after Enjolras, and Grantaire was left alone.

It was then that her mind seemed to catch up with her. She was being _robbed_. Well, not her, of course, but the _museum_. There was an honest-to-god robbery happening. What if Grantaire was considered an accomplice? What if the police thought she was a part of the group? Maybe she hadn’t done enough to stop them.

As Grantaire made a modicum of effort to get out of her restraints—the handcuffs on her wrists were a lost cause, but she assumed that if she bent down far enough, she might reach the ties around her ankles—the back door opened again.

“Delivery for Les Amis!” a voice called, and Grantaire watched as a short, round girl with shockingly pink hair made her way down the hall. She wore the same all-black uniform as Enjolras and Combeferre but didn’t look _nearly_ as intimidating. Probably why she hadn’t been assigned the ‘fake police’ role in this heist.

“I assume you’re Courf?” Grantaire called from her chair, causing the girl to stop in her tracks.

“Courfeyrac, yes,” she said. “And you are?”

“The girl who had the misfortune of being on duty when your friends showed up,” Grantaire said, wriggling her legs for emphasis.

Courfeyrac let out a laugh. “Oh, I like you,” she said. “Do you happen to know where my comrades in arms went?”

“To steal some priceless mid-century art and begin their radical revolution, probably,” Grantaire replied.

“Wonderful. Then I guess I have some time to kill before they’re ready for my skills.”

“Which are?” Grantaire assumed that Courfeyrac wasn’t going to uncuff her any time soon, so she just settled into her seat, looking up at the shorter girl with interest.

Courfeyrac hummed, and sank down against the wall until she could kick her legs out in front of her. “Oh, you know. Mostly getaway driver, part-time forger. We all do our part.”

“Forger?” Grantaire said leaning towards her and cocking her head.

“Rarely, these days,” Courfeyrac responded with a wave of her hand. She pulled one knee up to her chest. “I gotta say, you don’t seem anywhere near scared enough, for someone who’s basically being held hostage.”

Grantaire laughed. “I mean, I’m not all that bothered by it. Didn’t really love this job to begin with, and having the chance to flirt with a girl like—” Shit. Maybe being incessantly romantic and attracted to some random blonde thief wasn’t something she should be sharing, especially with that thief’s _conspirator_.

But, of course, Grantaire’s slip up was what caught Courfeyrac’s attention. “ _Flirting_? You’re literally tied up, and you decided to flirt? _With who?_ ” Her voice got more insistent. “Because if you say Combeferre, I may have to kill you.” Grantaire’s eyes widened, and Courfeyrac quickly clarified: “I mean, if some pretty artsy girl started flirting with your girlfriend, wouldn’t you get kind of annoyed?”

Grantaire breathed a sigh of relief. “Don’t get me wrong; she’s hot, but not really my type.” Then her brain caught up with the other part of Courfeyrac’s response. “Pretty artsy girl?”

Courfeyrac waved her hands in the air, as if trying to create an explanation. “You’ve got the whole choppy bangs, Doc Martens thing going on. It’s hot.”

Under normal circumstances, Grantaire assumed, thieves and their hostages didn’t end up complimenting each other’s looks so brazenly. Before she could respond, though, Courfeyrac sat up straight.

“Wait, you were flirting with _Enjolras_?” she nearly shouted. “Enjolras never flirts with anyone. Did she flirt back? Oh my god, I’m never going to let her live this down.”

Grantaire whipped her head around, wondering if anyone heard that. “Aren’t you guys supposed to be, like, discreet or something?”

“Not when there’s something this important happening. I mean, I’ve never seen Enjolras flirt in my _life_ , but of course, you’d be an exception. Of _course_ she’d get a crush on a hostage.”

“Wait,” Grantaire cut in, “Enjolras is straight?” She couldn’t imagine a girl like that dating men. But maybe that was just her own projection. Sometimes the world was a cruel place, and beautiful women turned out to be straight.

“Oh, god no,” Courfeyrac said with a laugh, calming Grantaire’s rapidly beating heart. “More like, she’s never shown an interest in _anyone_ , of any gender. Honestly, we all thought she was just too devoted to the cause or whatever to flirt. I’m glad to know she’s human.”

“Hold on,” Grantaire protested. “I never said she flirted back.”

“Um, with you? She’d be an idiot not to.”

Grantaire felt a flush rise to her cheeks. What _was_ it with these beautiful and stupidly flirtatious thieves? Were all art thieves like this? Maybe that Julia Roberts line was a line. Shit. Grantaire couldn’t handle the thought of that beautiful, angelic, angry woman actually flirting back with her. What kind of ridiculous world was she living in?

Thankfully, before Courfeyrac could interrogate her further, Combeferre and Enjolras came back into the hallway, with what looked like towels draped over paintings hidden under their arms.

“What the fuck, Courf?” Enjolras’s voice boomed. Clearly, none of them were too concerned with stealth anymore. “Are you just sitting around and chatting? We’re on a job, not in a club.”

“Funny,” Courfeyrac replied, standing up and taking some of the paintings from Combeferre. “I could say the same to you.” She nodded her head in Grantaire’s direction, and a light blush made its way onto Enjolras’s nose as she pursed her lips.

Grantaire thought she looked quite adorable like that. Like a terribly annoyed woodland creature.

“Fuck off, now isn’t the time,” was all Enjolras said, readjusting the paintings before she kept walking.

“Wait,” Grantaire said after a beat. “So that _was_ you flirting?”

“Not the time,” Enjolras called out before stepping outside, presumably to put the stolen art in whatever van Courfeyrac had brought.

Combeferre looked from Courfeyrac, who was grinning at Grantaire, to Grantaire, who was groaning softly.

“Courf, when we get in the car, we’re going to talk about this,” She nudged the shorter girl with her shoulder. “Now, c’mon. We’ve got to get moving.”

“Wait,” Grantaire said, realizing that this was about to be over. “You’re seriously just going to leave me here?”

Courfeyrac turned around, and, after whispering something to Combeferre, walked back to where Grantaire was still tied up. “Another guard comes and relieves you at five, right? So you won’t be waiting too long.”

Grantaire knew that, but that also wasn’t really what she was asking. What she really wanted to know was: Did she have a chance of seeing Enjolras ever again? Maybe getting a drink, arguing about politics, getting into a fight, and ending with a messy kiss? Not that Grantaire was putting that much thought into it or anything.

Courfeyrac, somehow, seemed to catch on to Grantaire’s thoughts. Or maybe Grantaire just wasn’t great at hiding her emotions.

“Listen. I don’t really know you, but you seem like the kind of person I’d like to know better. Of course, we can’t exactly bring a hostage with us, and if you send the authorities after us we’d have to take you out—”

“Now that, I wouldn’t be opposed to,” Grantaire broke in, causing Courfeyrac to laugh brightly.

“See? That’s why I’m saying this.”

“What exactly are you saying?” Grantaire asked. It seemed like Courfeyrac was trying to tell her something telepathically, but Grantaire couldn’t be sure.

“Oh, nothing,” Courfeyrac said airily. She took a step back from Grantaire and turned to follow her comrades. “On an unrelated note, if you’re ever looking for a good coffee shop, I’ve heard that the Musain, over by the Sorbonne, is pretty great. Good coffee, _great_ baristas. Just a thought, though!”

Grantaire let out a laugh, and Courfeyrac waved goodbye, leaving Grantaire tied to a chair in an empty hallway, in a museum that was now worth a couple thousand fewer Euros than it had been at the start of her shift.

The night went on, and soon, Grantaire’s back began to hurt from sitting in the chair. Her mind drifted to Enjolras, as expected, and what she might be like outside of her whole Robin Hood career. Maybe she’d be exactly the same, moving through each part of her life with that same passion and dedication. Maybe she kept a militant cleaning routine, as if leaving dishes in the sink was akin to neglecting the plight of the proletariat. Or maybe she had a softer side, letting her blonde hair rain around her shoulders, wearing sweatpants on a lazy Saturday morning. Maybe she would press soft kisses to Grantaire’s hand as Grantaire cooked, mumbling something about coffee and leaning into her side.

Grantaire quickly got lost in her daydreams, even though she truly didn’t know the girl at all. But then, what was life about, if not imagining a domestic life with the woman who left you tied up in a chair while she stole paintings from your employer?

Soon enough, Grantaire heard the exterior door click open, and watched as Feuilly, the morning shift guard and a good friend of Grantaire’s besides, came walking down the hallway, running a hand through her hair. She stopped at the end of the hall, noticing Grantaire, who gave a shrug of her shoulders.

“Holy shit, R,” Feuilly exhaled, and immediately walked into the office, presumably to call the police.

After that, it was a blur. The police interrogated her, asking her all sorts of questions about the thieves, the answers to which Grantaire kept as vague as possible. The thieves were wearing masks, she said, and had low voices, but moved quickly. She mentioned the police outfits and tried to remember anything about the specific paintings that had been stolen, but nothing came to mind.

Hours later, the police let her go, and she found Feuilly waiting for her outside the _Commissariat_ , leaning against the wall.

“So, what the fuck happened?” Feuilly asked, falling into step with Grantaire as they made their way to the metro.

“You literally wouldn’t believe me if I told you,” Grantaire said with a laugh.

“You’ve _got_ to have a more interesting story than what you just told the cops. That can’t be what actually happened, right?”

Grantaire considered it for a moment. Feuilly was probably the type of person who would agree with Enjolras on her world views. They could have fun planning some sort of revolution together, she thought.

“Actually,” she said, “why don’t we go get a cup of coffee? I just got this recommendation for a place on Saint-Michel that I’ve been dying to try.”


End file.
